Chapter XI: Farewell!

Ben Yetzel was not slow to act on his discovery. The news of Lady Patricia’s secession spread with lightning rapidity, and in two days every one in Palestine who had the slightest connection with Lionel Montella was aware of it. In these days of liberty it is difficult to understand the importance of such an event, but in the eyes of the Palestinian Jews it was of the greatest consequence. That the Governor’s wife was not of Jewish birth had always been a drawback in their eyes, but that she should openly profess the Christian Faith was unendurable. Her return to Haifa, therefore, was practically out of the question, and she decided to leave with the Princess at the end of the week.

And then came the dispute about the child. Lady Montella was up in arms at the suggestion that he should accompany his mother to Europe; and arrived in Jerusalem in hot haste, or at least as soon as the boat and train would bring her. She said very little to her daughter-in-law, and maintained a distinctly cold demeanour; but she spoke her mind freely to her son, whose filial respect was sadly tried.

“This is the happy result of a mixed marriage!” she exclaimed, with angry sarcasm. “Did I not tell you that the pride of the Montellas would depart? Little Julian is practically the last descendant of the house—for we do not know whether Ferdinand is alive or dead—and that he should grow up a Christian would be a disgrace I should never survive. Your poor father trusted to me to do all in my power to keep up the honour of the family; to keep it—as it has ever been till now—purely Jewish. Do you think that if Patricia takes the boy she will not educate him in her faith? Of course she will; she cannot do otherwise, whatever promises she may make.”

“But he is so young,” urged Montella, with reproach. “You forget that he is only a baby. Why not let Patricia have the comfort of him until he is old enough to be taught? It will be several years before he is able to understand anything of religious matters. Heaven knows I should miss the little chap if he left me too, but I think it cruel to part mother and child.”

“It is cruel only to be kind,” she rejoined vigorously. “Julian must be nurtured in Judaism, must breathe the atmosphere from babyhood if he is to grow up a true Jew. The earliest years of a child’s life are the most important, for it is then he imbibes the ideas which cling to him till he becomes a man. Soon he will be old enough to notice the Sabbath candles, and we shall be able to teach him the beginnings of our faith. But remove him from all Jewish influence, let Patricia teach him the Christian Catechism, and whatever else he may be, he will never grow up a Jew. No, there is no alternative in the matter; no compromise is possible. Julian must stay with us to be properly trained for the responsibilities he will have to fulfil. Patricia ought never to have married you if she did not mean to remain a Jewess. If she suffers, she has no one to blame but herself. With us religions are not lightly received to be afterwards cast away.”

By which it will be seen that Lady Montella was obdurate, and did not mean to be gainsayed. If Patricia intended to take her baby away, it would have to be by violence, and she was of much too gentle a nature to think of forcible measures. Moreover, she knew that Lady Montella was right, and that if she had the training of the child she could not help bringing him up as a Christian—thereby breaking the promise she had made before his birth. She knew also that, tended by his grandmother and the faithful Anne, he would be in safe hands; but this did not compensate her for the grief of the parting. The wrench was terrible, and on the morning of her departure she felt that she must set all at defiance and take him bodily away. The child seemed to understand what was happening, and clung to her with the tenacity of fear; and thus, clasped in each other’s arms, they awaited the dread signal which should warn them that the hour was come.

Lady Montella, away from her religious principles, was as warm-hearted as it was possible for woman to be, and could not witness the separation unmoved. She knew that both husband and wife were suffering keenly, and that Patricia’s heart was bleeding for her child. But the sternness of her decision was not relaxed, and the carriage drove up relentlessly to take the young mother away. Not caring to see the final farewell, she joined Mrs. Engelmacher in the room above; and a few minutes later she knew by the sound of wheels that all was over, and Patricia had gone.

The Princess was already at the little station when the unhappy pair arrived. She had never seen either of them look so ill, but was too wise to express her concern. Instead, she tried to make light of the whole matter, and drew their attention to the peculiar mixture of nationalities and personalities which composed the motley crowd on the platform. And there was the luggage to be seen to, and the red tape of Oriental officialism to be overcome, as well as the numerous necessities for the journey to the West. When all was accomplished, however, there still remained a little time before the train was due to start; and to the Montellas these few minutes were the hardest of all.

Lionel stood with his arm around his wife, and gazed piteously at the Princess.

“You will take care of my darling, won’t you, Olive?” he said, with a pathetic air of appeal. “In letting her go, I am parting with half of my life, and I know she feels it as much as I do, and perhaps more, because she is leaving the one little ray of sunshine she might have retained. But don’t let her fret, will you? Fretting doesn’t do a bit of good, and it will make her ill. Perhaps I shall be able to come over to Felsen-Schvoenig for a holiday next winter, or—or— Oh, we must look forward to meeting again soon, however it’s managed or whatever we do. So you’ll cheer her up, won’t you? Don’t let her get depressed. And I’ll write every mail, and—and—”

But his flow of language gave way; he could not bring himself to say another word.

“Oh, I’ll cheer her up,” the Princess returned confidently. “You may rely on me. You both look as mournful as if you were parting for ever; but that’s quite absurd. After I’ve seen my poor old Karl, I shall go to England and get my sister to work round that wooden-headed Moore. I fancy from what Mamie writes that the Expulsion Act is not working so well as he anticipated. Anyway, coming straight from the Holy Land, I shall be able to give them both a piece of my mind. Oh, there’s no knowing what may happen in another year. You must both keep up your spirits and hope for the best. It’s a long lane that has no turning, and I guess yours will turn pretty soon.”

She was so anxious to comfort them that the words seemed to fall over each other at express speed. Lionel thanked her from the bottom of his heart, and did his best to conjure up a wan smile. Then the signal for starting was given, and the final leavetakings had to be exchanged. A last fond embrace, a cordial hand-shake with the Princess, and Montella assisted the two travellers to mount their somewhat ungainly carriage. Then a vista of waving handkerchiefs, of straining eyes, as the train puffed and snorted on its way; and a few minutes later he was left standing on the platform surrounded by people—but alone. Turning resolutely, he made his way through the crowd and back to Dr. Engelmacher’s house, his shoulders thrown back, his head bravely raised. His mother, anxious and suddenly diffident, awaited him in the drawing-room, and as he approached the door, gently called his name. But either he did not hear, or he was not inclined to respond, for he passed by quickly, and ascended to the nursery.

“He has gone to his boy for consolation,” said Dr. Engelmacher, as the baby’s joyful “Daddy!” reached their ears. “Poor chap! he seems very much—what do you call it—cut down? No, I meant to say cut up. Ach, the women! Nine-tenths sorrow to a man, and one-tenth joy. Poor Montella! I am full of regrets. He loves his wife.”

“Yes, but he must love duty more,” Lady Montella rejoined, feeling a trifle hurt that he had not come straight back to her. “It will do him no harm to suffer a little; he is a man, and men are made strong through suffering. Ah, if I were only a man, what would I not do for my people, what would I not undergo for them! Years ago I determined that what I could not do should be accomplished by my son; and all my thoughts, my prayers have been centred on him for that purpose. He must show the world what can be done by a Jew who has had all the advantages of Western culture that wealth and influence can procure; it is his vocation, and he must not shirk it. That is why I am hard as adamant when any hindrance occurs. He ought never to have taken a Christian wife.”

“Of course not,” assented the doctor complacently. “Your sentiments are most admirable, dear lady; but Montella, though a man, is human, and has a heart. It is impossible to expect him to be a mere patriotic machine; and even the greatest patriots in history have had a feminine angel somewhere in the background. Ach, the women! But Ben Yetzel was a beast; it ought never to have been necessary to send Lady Patricia away. However, whats done is done. Montella must make the best of a bad business, and live it down.”

And upstairs the young Governor was already trying to carry out this very injunction. He was sitting near the open window with the child on his knee, and battling with the sore and angry feelings which threatened to rise and overwhelm him. Anne, busying herself about the room, saw that his face was white and set, and likened the expression in his eyes to that of a gazelle who had been cruelly wounded. But although her kind old heart was overflowing with sympathy, she had too much tact to speak, and knew that her respectful silence was perhaps more eloquent than words. Afterwards he joined the others below, and entered into their conversation with such zest that they were almost astonished. Lady Montella glanced at him with pride, and congratulated herself upon the fact that he had borne the separation well.

But from that day forth he was a changed man. The iron had entered into his soul.